The Battle of Arthenis III
by Michael Richardson
Summary: A retired mechwarrior discovers that he doesn't have to give up his job to keep a clear conscience.
1. Wouldn't You Have Retired?

The Battle of Arthenis III  
  
A young pilot has been retired from the field for a few years after experiencing moral qualms with his line of work. One day he receives an offer for a risky mission requiring an exceptionally skilled pilot to infiltrate a lethal installation. He accepts, and soon finds himself returned to the field, and in way over his head. With the help of a skilled and secretive operative and the stolen floor plans for his target, he is able to find the blueprints for a powerful new weapon and present them to his client, while discovering that his job and his conscience don't have to be at odds with each other.  
  
1 At the time, Omarus thought it was quite an aberration-a departure from the normal course of commercial operations that he had never seen before. It had been six years since he retired, and was now living the easy life back on Earth, so that all of the contracts were handled through the secretaries, and the missions given to his underlings. In truth, it really wasn't as strange as he had first thought, because they had to get a message to him somehow. In fact, his behavior that prompted their request was probably much stranger. After all, who ever heard of a mech pilot retiring at the age of 26-at the prime of his career, when practically all of the corporations and governments were trying to hire him? But you might have retired too, if you noticed your hair had already started graying at such a young age. That's when he realized that something was wrong, and decided that it was probably his career. A lot of people were disappointed when Omarus Aldan retired from mercenary work; of course, others hoped that his retirement signaled the end of the Hell Striders' influence in the mercenary market. Still, many continued sending contracts to Omarus even after his formal announcement to leave the field, although that died down after a couple years. It had been two years since the last of those attempts to hire him had been made. For a while, Omarus had planned on returning to the battlefield; but the contracts had ceased coming to him, and he looked around the field at the other warriors-like Jason Carberg and his 115 tonner with an assortment of gauss and heavy PPC's, and Carrie Grearson and her 60-ton medium with its super refractive armor that nullified any laser hits-and Omarus's confidence in his abilities and the 100-ton Hell Strider mech he had piloted were disappearing, and he wondered if his time had passed. It was at that time, when Omarus was just beginning to give up on the idea of any return to the field, that he received a message. And who can really blame them? After all, Omarus had told the secretary to send any message that said Contract Offer, or anything similar, to one of the other commanders, until he felt he was ready to return. So when the message arrived on his desk with the heading Personal Message, there was no reason for him not to open it.  
  
PERSONAL MEMO FROM: Ronald Herman, Allied Armaments Technological Research and Acquisition Department TO: Omarus Aldan  
  
Let me begin by saying that I understand that you have been retired years now. I apologize for sending you this offer in the form of a personal message, but once you understand the nature of the matter you may agree that it is of pressing urgency.  
There is a company called Turbine Pascal operating within the Inner Sphere. Perhaps you have heard of it. They manufacture and sell some of the Inner Sphere's top line weaponry-wares that even the old Star League would have to gawk over. To be more specific, they do business in energy weaponry-though not lasers, mind you. With a range of a kilometer, damage greater than a PPC, and a mass about four times a standard Extended Range medium laser, Turbine Pascal's PBC 250 particle beam cannon has been noted by warriors everywhere among the more powerful energy weapons built for mechs. They were introduced to the market in 3079, and since then they've been exploited by some of the bigger organizations in the IS.  
Although experts have agreed for years that Turbine Pascal offers some of the most powerful weaponry in existence, there is one problem: the company has complete control over the sale of that weaponry, and consequently the PBC's are priced higher than some mechs on the market today.  
To come to the point, fourteen years ago I came under the employment of the company Allied Armaments, which is one of the larger manufacturers of long-range energy weapons in the Inner Sphere. I have been assigned with the task of acquiring the technology for producing the PBC's. Most IS governments agree that Pascal's control over the market must end, and so Allied has been enlisted as the official means by which to end that domination. The bottom line is, I just want to arrange a meeting so that we may discuss this matter further.  
  
On one final note: this is also a personal message to you. Many people have told me that you have run your course and that your nerves are shot such that you'll never pilot another mech. However, far more others tell me that you remain the best of the best-maybe even the very best mech pilot ever to live. They think you're just cooling off for a while, and I agree. I've kept track of your career, and I believe in your abilities as a mechwarrior. You're just waiting for the right time to return to battle, and I believe now is it. And if it's not enough to know that I and many others believe in you, I can guarantee that your reward for undertaking this contract will be no less than Herculean.  
Please think it over.  
  
Ronald Herman  
  
The contract could hardly have been better timed. One journalist had speculated with the famous headline: "Has Hell Strider's Omarus Hiked to Greener Pastures?" People all around, including Omarus, were wondering if he had dried up. Now, in Herman's letter, Omarus suddenly found a new sense of value, and his blood began to flow again after years. That very day he called on Chester (Chester Taikushu, who watched over the unit in Omarus's absence) to power up his trademark Hell Strider mech that hadn't been used in six years. Omarus strapped himself into the cockpit, took a deep breath, and over the next eight hours found that, in fact, he had not lost his edge. By the time he returned that evening from a day of blasting boulders in the desert, he would have agreed to take on a lance of assaults while piloting a Firefly, with a Hornet as a mate. He contacted Mr. Herman and told him he accepted his contract without another thought.  
  
A week later Omarus was bound on his dropship toward the planet Arthenis III with Herman, 50 crew, 8 pilots, and 12 mechs aboard, including Omarus's Strider, an Atlas, and several medium and heavy chassis. Omarus was so caught up with all the excitement of returning to the field that it was only on the second day, after all the systems checks were done and he had become more comfortable with piloting again, that he sat down with Herman and the crew to discuss the specifics of the contract.  
"You said that Turbine Pascal has a monopoly on those particle cannons. These guys are pretty much a bunch of wimps, eh?"  
"Well, I wouldn't say that. In 2611 the freighter Milk Maid was transporting a cargo of food and weaponry to planet Cryton, in Epilanus Major. They were attacked by pirates and crash-landed on planet Arthenis III, in the Gabuy Hydrini system. Arthenis is simply a terrible planet. Its atmosphere is constantly charged and heated by the planet's close proximity to the star Gabuy Hydrini. The average surface temperature is 322 C(, and the radiation and ions in the atmosphere render radio inoperable. Radar and other standard detection systems are also inoperable, and the surface is constantly covered by a huge ion and dust storm, such that visibility is typically no more than 500 meters. It's the perfect place to hide all the manufacturing for PBCs."  
Omarus's mouth hung open for few seconds while Herman's words sunk in, until he noticed drool falling on the metal table beneath him.  
"And this is the planet you want me to fight on? No radio, no radar, low visibility and high heat? Could it get any worse?" Herman continued without addressing Omarus's worries.  
"When the Milk Maid crashed, most of the crew managed to survive inside the ship's hull for quite some time. The League had no knowledge of what had happened to the Milk Maid, because though they had destroyed the pirates that attacked them, their comm. systems were knocked out in the attack. The freighter, of course, had food and a hydroponics lab, so they were able survive on the planet. In the 500 years since they've made a lot of progress. They used the freighter's hull as a kind of headquarters from which to add on many modules. Today there are some 1,000,000 residents on the planet distributed across twenty enclosed cities.  
"What lent to the survival of the crew of the Milk Maid was a discovery they made early on. There is a special metal they named unildanium present on the planet, and due to the planet's hot, irradiated conditions, the metal is extremely lightweight, heat resistant, and resilient. After about a century pirates in the region began to notice the Arthenians on the planet's surface and began raiding. The Arthenians were forced to innovate and improvise much in the way of weapons technology. Standard lasers and missiles heated up the mechs too quickly, so they built the PBC 250 from IS designs and it became the standard weapon for their mechs. The PBC 250 has about twice the power of a PPC, except it's a lot cooler, and by using unildanium in its construction it's also very light. Today the PBC 250 is the Arthenian's weapon workhorse. Every one of their mechs has at least four of them. It's not as powerful or as ranged as the PBC 2000, but then again, on a planet where you can only see a few hundred meters, range isn't very important.  
"You'll be up against the PBC 250's, but what we want you to do is go down to Arthenis and retrieve schematics on how to build the PBC 2000."  
"Wait-hold on a minute," Omarus interrupted. "You want me to go down to a planet where I can't use my radio or radar, my mech will overheat if I fire any weapons, and the Arthenians already have the advantage because they have lightweight PPC's that can destroy me before I even spot them?"  
"Oh, no, it gets worse. You see, the Arthenians had to build their weaponry and mechs because of the necessity of keeping the pirates at bay. Eventually, however, the pirates were driven out of this area by the IS, and so the Arthenians didn't have to worry about them anymore. But, in the time they had fought the pirates, they were able to develop radar that could pierce through the planet's ionized atmosphere. Their mechs have a sporadic radar range of about 500 meters, and radio range of about twenty kilometers."  
"This is crazy! It sounds like you'd need an army to get what you want!"  
"Well, we actually tried that. Fifteen years ago Allied decided that Pascal's monopoly had to end and brought fifteen dropships and a hundred mechs to Arthenis. The Arthenians had already prepared for an invasion, and they shot the mechs from extreme range with heavy Arrow IV style missiles and PBC 5000's, even more powerful and better ranged than the 2000's. They detected us making the drop and cut the army to ribbons."  
"You're telling me an entire army was destroyed by these guys, and you want a single lance to go down there and take care of them?"  
"All you need to do is get the blueprints. And, it was more than one army, actually. Other weapon companies have found out about the Arthenians and attacked, before discovering just how powerful they were and giving up. And besides, it won't be your whole lance. We only want you to go down."  
  
"Just me alone?! Are you out of your mind?! It's a suicide mission!"  
  
"Well, you won't be alone. Another person will come on your mech-a spy named Kain Ikuru. And it so happens that there is one advantage we have."  
"And what's that?"  
  
"After Allied's army was wiped out by the Arthenians, Allied wasn't willing to tolerate another failure that massive. They wanted a cheaper way to get the technology, so they replaced the head of the Technological Acquisition and Research Department with me. A couple years ago Drenkins Huchev, who was living on Arthenis, defected and came to see us. He had decided that Turbine Pascal was corrupt and didn't deserve its iron grip on the PBC market. What he suggested was a stealthy operation to grab the plans for the PBC 2000.  
"Since then, we've put eight satellites in orbit, so you'll be able to have a top-down view of your mech, and be able to see anything within about 600 meters from it."  
"That's the advantage that I have? I can see a little farther than they can? Tell me this: why don't you just try to dissect their PBC 250's to find out how to build them?"  
  
"The 250's aren't the same as the 2000's. As I said, the PBC 2000 isn't even finished yet. Allied has already sold weapons to compete with the 250, but once they begin selling the PBC 2000, it will devastate us, and any other competitors." "But why?" Herman looked out the window of the dropship into space. Finally he turned to Omarus and spoke with the earnestness of a man whose career was about to be washed away. "Because the 2000 is going to blow away everything that's on the market once it's released. Its heat and weight are about the same as the 250. It's a bit more powerful, but the killer is that it has a range of ten kilometers. Once Turbine Pascal blew Allied out of the water in the shorter-ranged, mech-based weaponry, Allied turned almost solely to larger weapons-weapons for hitting dropships in orbit and destroying mechs from five, ten, fifteen kilometers away. The PBC 2000 can be put on any mech and do good damage from ten kilometers, and produce minimal heat in the process. It will put Allied out of business, unless we can get some decent resistance against it."  
"How expensive is it?"  
"It's not released yet, remember? But Huchev said it's likely to have a price tag of about 3.5 million for one unit."  
"Less than the 250? You said the 250 costs more than some mechs on the market."  
  
"I was talking about the 2000."  
  
"But you said the 250."  
"I'm not going to argue with you. The bottom line is that there isn't a single arms dealer in the Inner Sphere that can compete with the 2000 once it's released. Even with such a huge price, it's far less than any weapon with a range of 10 kilometers, I can tell you." "But isn't there any other way to get the 2000? They must have a ship or something that delivers the PBC's. Why don't you just capture it and get onto the surface that way?"  
"We've thought of that too. The Arthenians tell their client company when and where to await the next drop of PBC's. We have been able to track their transport ship a couple times while it was going to and leaving Turbine Pascal, but it has always cloaked before we were able to capture it. We decided instead to take on the spacedock where the ship launches from . . . but that's as heavily guarded as their cities. They have PBC 10000's. Even a battleship couldn't take on their dock."  
  
"This is crazy! How do you expect me to do this?"  
"Well, we have a very reliable way steal the plans-once you get in the city."  
  
"Do you have a plan to get me into the city? And tell me: what do you have in mind as pay for this suicide mission?"  
  
"Well, uh, as I told you earlier, funds have been rather limited. After the army was destroyed, Allied made me promise I wouldn't use that much money on something so risky again. Five years ago we only had two of the satellites left to build, and so I went shopping for a good mercenary, hoping it'd be only a year or so until the last satellites were done. But they took longer than I expected, and besides, I couldn't find a mercenary who I thought was good enough to get the job done. Everyone I talked to told me that you were the best around, but you had already retired. When the satellites finished a couple months ago I went shopping for another mercenary, but I concluded that there probably wasn't anyone else around who'd take this job, except you."  
"How much money," Omarus said, growling.  
"Well, as I said, our budget has been quite limited lately, but I can guarantee you that once profits begin to come in from selling the PBC's, you'll begin to see some real money."  
"How much!"  
"Uh, 2,000,000, at least for now."  
"Two million! Two million C-bills! Are you kidding me?" Herman said no word.  
"Two million is barely enough to cover our expenses-maintenance, ammunition, repairs. Look at those mechs out there," Omarus pointed to the cargo bay. "Those things have to be maintained, and that costs money," he said, slamming his fist on the table they were sitting at. "I have to pay the mech pilots, and this dropship's pilot, and everyone else who we have to bring along. That's fifty people who have to get paid. Two million C- bills just barely pays for the expenses of a mission like this, taking my own dropship out. And for this mission-from which there's barely a chance of returning? How can you possibly expect me to do this? What's to keep me from turning this ship around right now and dropping you back off at Allied?"  
"Everyone I've talked to told me you were the best, Omarus," Herman said with his head lowered. "If anyone can handle this, I know it's you. Once the money begins rolling in, you'll be able to collect-maybe 100,000,000. Allied Armaments really needs this, Omarus. After the army we sent against them got wiped out, it put us in a pretty bad place. The company's betting on this mission working now. If you don't succeed . . . Allied will go under."  
Omarus glanced back into the bay where the workers were sending sparks flying, and securing all the bolts on the mechs. The last preparations were being made to his mech, with the satellite radio/radar being installed. But his mind was on what Herman was asking him to do. For anyone this was a bad deal, and it definitely wasn't what he had in mind for his return to mercenary work. It wasn't that he hadn't been in bad situations before, but this was out of the question. But, as he contemplated rejecting the contract he'd already accepted, an idea came to his mind. "All right, I'll do it, but you have to agree to my conditions. First of all, whether or not the mission is successful, and whether or not I die, and whether or not you get your guns, we get the two mil."  
Herman was uncomfortable with the idea, but he agreed.  
"Second, if I am successful, I want total media exposure. I want," he counted on his fingers, "everyone to know that it was Omarus of the Hell Striders that pulled this off, that it was a total success, and that Omarus is finally back in the business of being a mercenary."  
"I can probably arrange that," Herman said scanning his mind for how it might be done.  
"Third-you tell me that you can't pay me right away-that it's going to take years. Two million is probably fine for pay. But I want two percent of Allied's annual income from selling the guns, until Allied goes under or we do, and a 20% discount on all Allied armaments for the next eight years."  
Herman fidgeted, and squirmed, and shifted in his chair, and did the math in his head. Finally he answered, "All right then. It's a deal."  
"I wasn't done yet," Omarus said. "One more thing. When I do succeed and we take control of the Arthenian's weapon stocks, I want to be guaranteed my choice of 50 of their guns, ten mechs, and rights to salvage and whatever other technology they have-like how to build the PBC's." "You must be more crazy than I am," Herman said, stunned at his latest set of demands. "There isn't going to be anything to salvage. All you're doing is getting the schematics. For that, we're sending Kain Ikiru in with you. He's a thief-highly trained, the best in the business. All you need to do is get him into Graedis, and he'll do the rest. And get him out, of course." "Is that so? You're saying there isn't going to be any salvage?"  
"Well, I wouldn't necessarily say that."  
"What would you say?"  
"Well, there might be a little equipment salvaged."  
"Very well. I want any and all salvage we might find. You can have the blueprints, but I want any and all salvage."  
"That's fine by my, but I doubt there'll much salvage."  
"I guess that depends on just what your plan is, exactly." "Well, we're not sure of all the details yet, but the plan is to basically steal one of the Arthenian mechs, get in, steal the blueprints, and get back out." "All with the same mech?' "As I said, we haven't figured all the details out yet." "Hmm. You wouldn't mind if I help plan this thing too, would you?" "Not at all. I was counting on it. We have detailed maps we've developed of the populated areas of Arthenis. From what Huchev told us, their city of Graedis has the least firepower protecting it. We're going to land near there, and then you can proceed into Graedis. I'll have the maps sent to you. A month should probably be fine."  
  
The next day, the Hell Strider dropship Canopus arrived in orbit around Arthenis and landed in the desert, near Graedis. For the next month, Omarus coordinated the plans on how to infiltrate the base. Every patrol route, every pilot, and every mech-everything they could find out- they did. At any time, fifteen pilots circled around the city, patrolling the reaching and stopping only to change shift. A few days before Omarus headed out, Herman told him something he had forgotten earlier. "I've managed to acquire a few weapons for you to use out there." "What weapons?" "Three HPEB's, a small gauss rifle, and an autocannon. I also found some heat sinks for you." "HPEB's? Do you mean, those weapons that came out back fifteen or twenty years ago? The ones that failed miserably?"  
Herman put his hand up to his forehead, perhaps trying to nurse a headache through administering pressure. "Yes, the worst failure of Allied Armament's existence, Omarus. It was the funereal attempt of Allied Armament's Mech-based Weapon Division to compete with the PBC 250. So laugh while you can, Omarus. It's heavy and hotter and shorter ranged than the PBC 250, but at least the damage is a bit higher. It was also six times more expensive. If it hadn't been for the 250, it probably would have sold fine, but it didn't. So now, Allied has about fifty of the things left in stock that still haven't sold. And they're yours, free of charge, for your service to Allied."  
"I'm honored."  
  
Almost four weeks after the landing, Omarus met Herman in the mech bay where the Strider was kept and prepared to embark. Despite Herman's questioning, Omarus remained elusive about just what he had planned, and why the day before he had mysteriously placed a few barrels of gas in the middle of the desert and detonated them.  
With farewells to all present, Omarus took helmet in hand and climbed into the Strider. Far below Herman cried out "Good luck!" Omarus jeered at his weak attempt to ease the burden on his shoulders. For a moment, as Omarus sealed the big mech's cockpit, he wondered just how many seconds total it would take him to make mincemeat of that little bureaucrat in his suit and tie if he were ever put in one of these machines. Fifty? Thirty five? Ten? He'd probably be dead before he even figured out how to start the thing up. The power came on in the metal beast, and systems startup began. For any mech one hundred kph was a pretty good speed, but now, with most of the weaponry stripped away, Omarus had gotten it up to 113 kph. But good speed wasn't all that he would need. Heat sinks, a gauss rifle, the HPEB's from Allied, and a satellite uplink array completed the modifications to the machine. Soon, these systems would be submitted to their first battle.  
Battle. Yes, Omarus's felt good returning to battle. Six years away from a mech had almost made him forget how it felt-the metal gauntlets attached to the ceiling that he used to manipulate the mech's arms; the layout of numerous buttons on the HUD, controlling everything from speed and weapons power to the electrical systems and pneumatics; the purr of the air conditioner and the hum of the heat sinks, working tirelessly to keep the mech cool. It was good to be back again. But by far, battle would be the best thing about coming back. Ten meters above the ground, Omarus once again dominated everything. He was supreme among the mechwarriors; and though he was outnumbered and outgunned, he was ready to take on whatever Arthenis might throw at him. Four meters from the inner doors Omarus's Strider stopped. The doors opened, the mech walked out, and the doors behind closed and a second set of doors opened, revealing the surface of Arthenis III.  
There wasn't much to see, though. As Herman said, visibility was poor. The planet's atmosphere was filled with heavy radiation and dirt kicked up by solar winds. Landforms changed and disappeared and reformed elsewhere within a millennia on Arthenis III, not tens of thousands or millions of years like on habitable worlds. Omarus hit the throttle and the second set of doors closed as the mech moved away from the dropship. Beneath its feet the ground was tan brown, a layer of scorched dust cooked by the system's sun; around the mech sandy wind blew in swirling eddies. The mech stopped again after about two hundred meters and Omarus turned around, coming to a rest facing directly toward the dropship. It was a dark mass before him, obscured slightly by the dust.  
"Base, this is Omarus. Do you read?" A second went by, and then the response came.  
"Roger, Omarus, this is Base. What's your status?"  
"Oh, just checking out the radio. I guess transmitting via satellite does work."  
"That's affirmative, though I think we've already fairly proved that with the scouting and the barrels and all. Expect static on the comm., though. We'll send you anything the scouts pick up. Base out."  
The mech faced back into the torrent of sand and wind, and Omarus started off at full speed. The dropship was stationed a full 130k from the Arthenian city of Graedis, to prevent patrols from accidentally finding it, so it would mean traveling 66k to rendezvous with Eagle Scout and the Crystal Dragon, the smaller dropship that had come on the Canopus-an hour journey that was bleak, uneventful, and without note, save occasional boulders on the way, a couple sand dunes, and a short ridge he bypassed.  
The trip to Sniper Stone, dubbed by the dropship crew for what was soon to take place there, took just under an hour. Omarus stopped the mech on the southeast side of the boulder in a small cave and settled the mech into a crouching position, and then used the satellite uplink to determine the location of Eagle Scout. Omarus held vigil in the hollow of that rock, and watched the minutes tick by while fiddling with his instruments. When Peter Strauss and his Eagle mech were 32 kilometers off, or about twenty minutes away, Base finally contacted Omarus.  
"Everything all right out there, Omarus?"  
"Roger. I'm AOK. I've settled in at Sniper Stone, and Eagle Scout is at 31 clicks and closing."  
"Acknowledged. So, are you going to stick to plan-hit him from behind?"  
"Don't worry about me-I'll get my job done. Just make sure everything else is ready."  
The minutes slowly passed by. The red box on the HUD, indicating the Eagle's approximate position, neared slowly as Strauss approached on his long patrol. Each day for nine years Peter Strauss had been restricted to the same eight hour, 443-kilometer long path that his mech had walked in search of enemies. But soon, that would be over, and Peter Strauss would make an unexpected deviation from his patrol. At eight kilometers, Omarus signaled the dropship again.  
"Base, this is my last communication before radio silence. Eagle is just a few minutes away. I'll start charging my weapons in three minutes. Over and out."  
Omarus zoomed the satellite map in on the Eagle, which hurried forward, unaware of the surprise waiting for it. If all went well, the battle would practically be over before Strauss knew Omarus existed. Omarus's target would be the comm. array on the Eagle's back. It was a pretty small target, and he would probably only have one shot at it, but if he could take the radio out right away-if he could keep Strauss from contacting Graedis and going on alert-everything would be so much easier.  
Two kilometers. Omarus started powering the weapons, and the mech came alive. He strapped himself into the chair and prepared for battle.  
One and a half clicks. Omarus went over his weapons. There were only four of them: the three HPEB's, original conceptions of Allied Armaments, built in hopes of combating Turbine Pascal PBC 250 in the marketplace. They still didn't match the power, range, energy usage, or heat dissipation of their Pascal counterparts, but they were a lot better than lasers. At that moment it was great consolation to Omarus to know that his team of engineers had spent two weeks subjecting these guns to extensive testing, such that their reliability was no longer in doubt.  
And then there was the other weapon Allied had recently devised. The heavy gauss cannon wasn't nearly as powerful as even a light gauss, but it had two features that far set it apart from conventional gausses. First of all, it could fire rapidly, launching three projectiles a second, each with about a fourth the power of a light gauss shell. And second, it had a wonderful aiming system. He could simply lock it onto any body part of a mech and fire, and let the rifle track the target. Some said it was actually more of an autocannon. Perhaps that was true, since the range was only three hundred meters maximum. But, autocannon or heavy gauss, it was enough for what Omarus needed.  
Seven hundred fifty meters. In a second, the Strider would be visible on the satellite display, once the Eagle was in range. Omarus took one last look around. The sea of surging dust had darkened. The sun had set while Omarus waited for the Eagle. But it didn't matter much anyway. Sun or not, visibility was bad, and it wasn't going to get better.  
The Strider appeared on the satellite radar, and the Eagle closed in rapidly. His path would bring him within about 250 meters from the cave Omarus was stationed inside, but with his radar only working on line of sight, he wouldn't know that until it was too late, for the cave was very much in the way of his radar.  
The mech stood up again, and Omarus put his hands in the weapon gloves. Through the dark rock in front of him, Omarus looked at the red box outlining the 60 tons of metal lumbering through the darkness. And then he passed the perpendicular, the minimum distance from Omarus that his patrol would bring him. Omarus looked down at the weapons readout and spotted a minor problem. Better change that. HPEB's to beam fire. Pulse fire just wouldn't cut it-the mech, that is. Omarus's only other worry was the heat sinks; but, with the onset of night, they would be able to handle the heat.  
Eagle was now almost 300 meters away and getting farther. But the rock wasn't out of the way yet. He needed more time. At last his range reached 400 meters away as he came out from behind the rock. Omarus laid the crosshairs on the Eagle's right shoulder and pulled the triggers, without a moment's hesitation. Into the darkness the HPEB blasts shot. He held the triggers down for three seconds more, and let go. Then, the Eagle fell over, maybe slipping on the sand. On the satmap Omarus could see metal lying next to the Eagle, and the Eagle's back was burning, or smoking, but even at maximum zoom, the map's clarity was quite poor.  
But it didn't matter. Either way, Omarus needed to act soon. He hit the throttle and zoomed forward, staying just outside the Eagle's detection range until coming to stop on Strauss's right side. Strauss got back up a second later and, just as Omarus was ready to fire, Strauss turned around, perhaps looking to see if he could find the perpetrator of his misfortunate.  
Omarus looked at the map again, hoping to see if the guns had done their job, but the image still wasn't clear enough, owing to the saturated atmosphere on Arthenis. But now, that didn't matter. Eagle Scout turned again, almost facing Omarus's direction. For a moment, Omarus hesitated. A thought flashed through his mind, and he wondered if somehow, this didn't have to happen. But it was now or never, and there seemed no avoiding it. So, from a point in the darkness undetected by his radarscope, the pilot of the Eagle watched the flare of machine gauss impact on his windshield. 


	2. The City of Graedis

2  
Captain Jurick Donnell had spent the last nine years in Graedis since his wife and daughter had been killed in a minor attack from the Inner Sphere. At the time, Jurick had been in Graedis and was just about to retire. When they were killed, he decided he had only one important motive left in life, and that was to protect Graedis from any further IS attacks, and to prevent more such deaths. For a couple years his life remained eventful as he went on missions against the IS; but then the attacks slowed, and people started wondering why there was still a standing mech force across the planet. Even Jurick had again begun to wonder if it might be best to leave the force once and for all, even if he was the city's best warrior. But for now, Jurick was in charge of Peter Strauss's lance, the Ramblers, and so he was, naturally, the best person for Roberts to talk to about Strauss's behavior, since Roberts couldn't talk to Strauss himself. So Jurick was sleeping off shift when Captain Winters ran out of the Command Post and found Jurick's quarters and rang his doorbell.  
"Wake up, Donnell! Colonel wants you!"  
  
"Doesn't he know I'm sleeping?"  
"It's important. Hurry!" Jurick shook himself awake and quickly got dressed before leaving his room and returning with Winters to Command, where Colonel Edrick Roberts tried to raise Strauss on the radio, as he, Captain Pembroke, Radar Officer Jonathan O'Reilly, and Tactical Officer Wesley Stephens crowded around the radarscope to keep track of what was going on.  
"Yes, Colonel? What's this about?"  
"Your Lieutenant Peter Strauss is coming back early from his patrol. We can't reach him on the radio."  
"Peter Strauss?"  
"Yes, Peter Strauss. Do you have any idea why he won't respond to us? Has he been acting strangely?"  
"Uh, no, he's been perfectly fine. He won't talk to you?"  
"Is there anything unusual that's happened lately? Why isn't he responding?"  
"No, I can't think of anything unusual. Well, actually . . . there was that little thing yesterday."  
"Yesterday? What happened?"  
"He, uh . . . he said that while he was out on the western leg of his patrol he saw what looked like a flash of lighting. He went to investigate and found that it was an explosion-some old barrels of fuel that caught on fire."  
"And you didn't report it to me?"  
"They could have been there for years before exploding. The heat can do that to volatile substances, after enough time. I didn't think it was too important, anyway."  
"Well, he's not responding, and we need to find out why. Go to Yellow Alert, Wesley. He's just passed the two kilometer mark."  
Pembroke spoke up. "Colonel, don't we have to stop him from reaching one kilometer if he doesn't respond?"  
  
"We do. Wesley, target Peter Strauss's Eagle. I don't want you to shoot until he reaches one kilometer though-and aim for the legs! I don't want-"  
"Sir," O'Reilly interrupted, "I didn't notice it before, but looking at his cockpit . . . it looks like his mech is damaged. Maybe someone shot . . ." At O'Reilly's implication, everyone further strained their eyes to look where O'Reilly was pointing, to the forward view of Strauss's Eagle that showed some sort of damage on the cockpit.  
"He's been shot," Winters gasped.  
"Now don't jump to conclusions," Roberts said quickly. "There's no evidence that he's been fired on. Let's all just remain calm. The IS hasn't taken any hostile actions on Arthenis in over a year. That's about a record. Let's not let this little thing break it."  
  
But, in spite of Robert's reassurance of his officers, everyone was concerned at what this new development might mean. Perhaps temperatures would be the way best to measure the problem Graedis was just encountering: in contrast to the seething temperatures outside, hundreds of degrees above what was tolerable for human life, the dome of the Command Post, the city of Graedis, and every other city on Arthenis was kept at 21( C. However, those crowded around O'Reilly's radar station had all started perspiring as though it was at least fifteen degrees warmer in the building. At the moment, it wouldn't have been easy for anyone there to call this a minor problem, except maybe Roberts. Any sign that there might be more problems with the Inner Sphere numbskulls needed to be addressed quickly, and appropriately.  
"Colonel: Ferris and Coleman are in position." "Good! Tell them to detain Peter Strauss before he gets to the one click mark. Tell them to stand in his way if they have to!"  
Before O'Reilly could complete the order, Peter Strauss's mech had stopped in its tracks. "Sir! Look! He's stopped!"  
  
"Where?"  
  
"1.25 kilometers. He's turning around."  
"What is he doing?" Roberts sought an answer in the faces of those staring at the radarscope, resting finally on Captain Jurick. "Captain, do you have any idea what he's doing?"  
"None, sir! He was acting just fine yesterday."  
"Then why wouldn't he answer when we call him on the radio?" Roberts mumbled, turning back toward the scope.  
"Sir, he's started moving again! He's coming toward us, but he's moving backward."  
"Moving backward? Why of all things is he moving backward?"  
"I don't know, sir," Jurick said, practically frenzied.  
"Wait! Sir, look: his back."  
"He's damaged there too."  
A split second later Louisa Ferris in her Katana contacted Command.  
"Sir, were you aware that Strauss's comm. array is out?"  
"His comm. array? His comm. array is out?"  
"That's why he hasn't been able to say anything," added Bret Coleman, also escorting Strauss.  
"Then why didn't he use his back up radio, or his suit radio?" Pembroke asked.  
"Backup radio only has a range of two kilometers," Jurick said.  
"Then he could have used it by now. And what about his suit radio?"  
"Why don't we ask him when he gets here," Jurick said, annoyed at Pembroke's possible insinuation.  
"Yes," Roberts said to everyone there. "Wesley, hold your fire. Don't shoot Strauss. Ferris, Coleman, escort Strauss to Mech Bay 3. Hold your fire. Send a security detachment to the mech bay."  
A minute later, Pembroke, Winters, Jurick, Roberts, and six armed guards were all standing outside Mech Bay 3, where Peter Strauss's Eagle was heading. Inside the bay were two twenty-tonners, ready to respond if there should be any trouble with Strauss, in addition to Ferris and Coleman, who were escorting the Eagle into the bay at that moment. Once they'd entered the bay, the doors closed, air refilled the chamber, and then a dock was extended to the Eagle.  
"Look at his windshield," Winters gasped. "He must have taken a hit right in the cockpit! The whole right side of the glass has gotten blasted out!"  
"Get him out of there, double time," Roberts said to the security team. The seals opened up, and four of the guards entered the Eagle's cockpit from the rear. Seconds later they came outside, carrying Strauss by the arms and legs.  
"Mmhphhmm, mpphpmmph, mphhmmmp," Peter said, his helmet blocking the words.  
"Get his helmet off!" Jurick said. The guards sat Peter down in a nearby chair and pulled his helmet off. The sight of Peter's face shocked everyone present-though half them had never seen his face before. For those who had seen him, the smooth, white features of his face were now scraped, burned, and sand covered. What they could see of his face-the skin didn't look like sandpaper-was reddened like a cherry, as though he had been out in the sun for several hours too long.  
"Peter? Peter, is that you?"  
"Yes, it's me," he said calmly with a lisp, though doubtlessly in great pain. His words were slurred and those present could hardly understand.  
"What happened?"  
"Mechs," he said, closing his eyes and trying his best to stay awake, and keep from throwing up. "Ten mechs are coming! They're on the west side. They're coming to attack. I outran them, but . . . they shot at me. I only barely got away. They ambushed me. They're coming to attack! They said they're going to finish us off! They . . . we have to stop them!" Though Strauss was in a lot of pain, the approaching mechs were first on his mind. "We have to stop them!"  
"Not you, Lieutenant," Roberts intruded. "You need medical care. Get him to the hospital right away. Winters, Jurick, Pembroke, get your lances together and meet those IS mechs before they get too close. And get everyone else together too."  
  
"Sir," Jurick asked the Colonel, "can I be permitted to return to my bed? My lance and I were just getting to sleep when all this happened. Do you really need us?"  
  
"I suppose not. Ten Arthenian mechs should easily be enough to take down ten IS mechs."  
The guards started carrying Strauss off toward the hospital, but he called out to the Colonel once more.  
"Wait, Colonel! There's one more thing. Take this. It's everything I could get in." Strauss handed Roberts a computer disk, and then the guards carried him away. Roberts returned to the Command Post with Jurick in tow, who was perhaps half asleep and didn't even know what was going on, while Ferris, Coleman, Winters, Pembroke, and most of the other warriors got in their mechs and proceeded to intercept the IS mechs.  
  
What Strauss had given Roberts was the last hour of recordings he'd made from the Eagle's camera and sensor logs. Roberts, Jurick, and O'Reilly watched as Strauss made his way on his patrol. Soon, just as he had the day before, Strauss saw more barrels explode on the left, a few hundred meters off his patrol, creating an explosion like a flash of lightning. He went to investigate again and found many more barrels than the day before. Then, when rounding a boulder, he found himself looking straight at nine mechs, all shutdown. It took him a second to begin shooting their legs until they powered up. Then, he was just getting ready to send a message to Graedis when his comm. array was destroyed. He turned around to meet whoever had shot him from behind, but the mech blasted a hole in his windshield. The air was drained from the mech by the time Strauss managed to get his helmet on, and his face was blasted with the winds and radiation of Arthenis III. Then, with his mech quite damaged, he retreated from the battle while they continued to pound on him. He outran them, and eventually he began recording delirious ravings about the mechs and the doom impending on Graedis.  
"Jurick, I thought you needed to get some sleep?" Roberts darted, pausing the transcript.  
  
"Yes, sir, that's right, sir. I'll get to bed right now."  
"Good. Your boy'll be fine. And well teach those IS imbeciles not to mess with Arthenis III any more. You just get some sleep."  
  
"Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir."  
  
Jurick was more than happy to return to his bed. He'd just gotten off a 10-hour shift, and he knew he was in no condition to do fighting. Still, he wanted to know why things had turned out this way. He wanted to hear if Strauss had anything more to say.  
It was less than ten minutes after Jurick had gone to bed before his rest was interrupted again, this time by Limey Ross, one of the mech engineers.  
"Yes, Limey? Is there some reason I've been woken up a second time tonight?"  
  
"You heard about Strauss, sir?"  
"Yes, Limey, I heard about Strauss. Good night."  
"Wait, sir. The Colonel told me to get to work on fixing his mech, and . . . well, sir, there's something I think you should see."  
  
And so for the second time, Jurick got himself dressed and left his quarters, led by Limey back to Mech Bay 3. They went up an elevating platform to the mech's right arm, where Limey showed Jurick his discovery. As Roberts had told him to do, he had been busy repairing the Eagle, and he opened up the arm to replace the damaged plating when he found that all wasn't as it should be.  
"Look, sir. These aren't PBC 250's. They're not even PBC's. These are just little medium lasers."  
"Medium lasers? What are they doing on his mech?"  
"I'm not sure, sir."  
"Did someone pull the PBC's off?"  
  
"I don't know. I'm thinking someone knew Strauss was going to get into that fight today, and so they sabotaged him so there was no way he could win."  
"But . . . why would anyone do that? That doesn't make sense. I . . . just pull the lasers out and put PBC's back in," Jurick said sleepily, turning around and walking back toward the door to leave the bay.  
"Wait, sir! You're just going back to bed?"  
"Nope. I'm going to the hospital to see if I can talk to Strauss about this. If there's anyone that knows, it should be him."  
Jurick found room 113 where Strauss was being kept. Jurick didn't actually believe Strauss would be in a condition to speak, but he thought it was worth a shot at least. But the door was locked, and no one answered after knocking twice.  
"Hello? Is anyone in there?"  
No answer came.  
"Hello?" Jurick stepped back from the door and gave a solid kick on it, and then two more. The door opened inward, and a sight of blood- painted walls met his eyes. Four bodies were readily visible in Jurick's view, but there was no body on the bed, where Peter Strauss should have been. Jurick walked into the room cautiously, stunned at what he saw. He walked around the bed once, and came to a stop next to the door. Then, from a corner of the small room, a sound came of someone standing up slowly. It was one of the doctors who was going to help Strauss. Jurick helped him up, and once the doctor had taken a look around the room, he spoke to Jurick.  
"I don't think that was Peter Strauss."  
Jurick took another look around the room, and then bolted out and toward the Command Post. Before he arrived, the whole building shuddered as a blast rocked through the city. The lights darkened, but Jurick continued down the passageway.  
"What happened," Roberts asked him as the emergency lights came on.  
"That wasn't Strauss," Jurick said, entering the room. "They must have captured his mech while he was out there!"  
"The power core's out," Wesley Broker said to the Colonel.  
"Did they sabotage it?" the Colonel asked. O'Reilly was the next to speak.  
"Sir, I've just received a message from the mechs we sent out. Half them have been disabled-their legs, sir."  
"The IS shot them?"  
  
"No, sir. They said they haven't even reached the IS mechs yet."  
"It can't be! Jurick, wake up what's left of your lance right away. Get out there and help Winters, Pembroke, and Nelson, on the double!"  
Jurick quickly found his two remaining soldiers, who were already awake from the sound of the explosions. In a minute they were inside Mech Bay 2, where Jurick's lance was stationed, but more bad news awaited them there, from the engineer who worked on their mechs.  
"It happened all of a sudden, just about the time the power went out. All of a sudden, the legs on all the mechs blew off. I think it was some sort of a bomb-a breech charge, maybe. Someone wrapped explosives around their knees, and then blew them up. They aren't going anywhere until they get repaired."  
"Are there any mechs left in the city?"  
"The Eagle's in Bay 3 of course, and the mechs in bays three and one have gone out."  
"And half of those are disabled now."  
"The only other mechs are in Bay 4. Three of those are on patrol, but the other two should still be fine."  
"Good. Katherine, Wilt, go to Bay 4 and head out to help Pembroke, Nelson, and Winters."  
"What about you, sir?"  
"Maybe I'll take a Guardram. Just get out there!"  
  
Katherine Bexley and Wilt Turner went to Mech Bay 4, and Jurick went to report to Roberts what had happened.  
"Colonel, someone sabotaged the mechs in Bay 2! They're all down- bombs on their legs."  
"Their legs?"  
"That's what happened to the ones on the front," O'Reilly said.  
"Wilt and Katherine are on their way to Bay 4 to get the mechs over there. Do you want me to go with them in a Guardram?"  
"Damn! Why'd this have to happen? Everything was going fine until today! With only five mechs, even against the IS, we'll get creamed. Yes, Jurick, get out there and help them."  
"Yes, sir."  
Jurick ran off and back toward Mech Bay 2. His plan was to get into one of the Guardrams-one of the two twenty-ton mechs designed for close range combat-the last defense against anything that might attack Graedis. But, as if you haven't already guessed, all was not well in Graedis that day. When Jurick reached the hallway outside the bay, he found two dead guards on the floor. The door opened, and he found that more still was out of place. As before, three mechs had fallen to the ground, and a fourth was barely supported by its damaged leg and the wall behind it. But, the two Guardrams that had been in the room not five minutes before were now missing-and Ron Kelly, the engineer who had been working on the mechs, was lying dead on the floor next to one of them. After repossessing himself after the shocking sight, Jurick got on the intercom to Command.  
"Someone's been in Bay 2. They killed the guards and Ron Kelly and stole the two Guardrams."  
"They stole my Guardrams! Two of them? How? I thought this was just one person? Wait . . . Jurick, emergency power is up, and O'Reilly says he sees two Guardrams heading west on radar."  
  
"Can we hit them?" "The turrets aren't responding." "Then I'm going after them." 


	3. A Tale of Three Sneaks

3  
After Omarus killed Lieutenant Peter Strauss, the Crystal Dragon, the smaller dropship waiting nearby, loaded the mechs aboard and headed to where they had set up the barrels. Most of the cockpit damage was repaired, going so far as to replace the broken glass, and then rigging it to explode by remote for later. The PBC 250's were replaced with medium lasers and they set up a mock battle, with Omarus assuming the position as Peter Strauss, finding the group of mechs near the barrels, and getting into a battle with them, so the action could be recording from his view. After outrunning the mechs and taking slight damage, he simply continued forward to Graedis, telling Roberts that the city would soon come under attack and giving him the disk of the recordings, which also contained a virus that deactivated the defenses for the city's power grid. The guards rushed him to the hospital for medical treatment, and it wasn't too long before they found that he was actually wearing a mask, and hadn't truly been blasted with the planet's atmosphere. From the hospital he went to Mech Bay 2, where he rendezvoused with Kain Ikiru.  
In the meantime, Kain, who had come with Omarus on the Eagle in a suit, began attaching bombs to the legs of the mechs. Once Ferris and Coleman were out again he used a magnetic grapple to reach the ceiling and enter the ventilation system. The map Drenkins Huchev had copied of the city helped Kain make his way to Mech Bay 2, where he also booby trapped the legs on the mechs, setting them to blow in eighteen minutes. He reentered the ventilation system and his next stop was Colonel Robert's room, where he accessed the computer system and stole all the top secret files he could find, includgin the blueprints to the PBC 2000. He set up bombs on the city's power core before returning to Mech Bay 2, killing Ron Kelly and the guards outside the door, and, after Omarus showed up, both of them got in the Guardrams and left the city, heading directly for the dropship. With the turrets out and the city's mechs all distracted by the supposed attack Omarus had told of, Kain and Omarus believed their troubles with Graedis were over.  
"Hey, what do you think of these little mechs-" Omarus radioed to Kain- "these Guardrams? I think they're a lot better idea than the rapid transport we were originally planning on taking. Remember that quick little thing that we-"  
"Yes, I remember it. The thing that was twice as fast as these Guardrams, right?"  
  
"Yeah, but without armor or weapons. Not that these have much armor or weapons either. And they're not that fast, but hey, who's going to come after us? Another Guardram? It'd be impossible for one of them to catch up."  
"Not that they could do us any harm anyway-as long as we had our shields on."  
"Shields?"  
"Didn't you see the shield button on the right side of your panel?"  
"No, I didn't see it," Omarus said, finding the button and pressing it. "You must have quick eyes."  
  
"So what are you going to do when we get off Arthenis," Kain asked his companion after about ten minutes.  
"Rejoin the fray. After this, Arthenis will be viewed on of the greatest moments in mercenary history. And these mechs-these Guardrams- they're the best part of it. I've just been thinking about, and they'll make a great addition to my ranks. With their shields, they'll be great for medium range fire support, at least during brief skirmishes. The money will be pourin' in when they get out there! I'm still a little irritated over this deal I've set up with Herman, though. At least I'm getting a decent bounty for Strauss." Then, though Kain continued to listen, Omarus started talking to himself. "Actually, now that I think about it, maybe I should take out those mechs north of us. That'd probably be a good 20,000 C-bill bounty for all them, at least. In fact, we could just storm the city and wipe them all out! And there'll never be a better time."  
"That was never part of the plan though, Omarus. You don't actually plan to attack Graedis, and kill all the people there?"  
"No, you're right. I shouldn't submit my own dropship to that much fire, from Graedis or its mechs. Nor do I want to let my mechs get shot up. It'd just be too expensive if something goes wrong. Our gains wouldn't merit it, especially considering that Allied already has the rights to the PBC technology." "What are you saying," Kain asked Omarus, bringing him back to reality. "The Hell Striders are just a business, like Allied Armaments, and I don't think we'd make enough money from attacking Graedis to justify it. I'm sure that's the same thing Allied is thinking. So, their city can sit here, a testament to Omarus Aldan and his supremacy among mech pilots. At least, until someone starts buying up the guns from Allied and sweeps up the Arthenians. Maybe they'll even hire us to do it."  
"Did I hear you right," Kain asked Omarus. "Did you say, you don't think it will be worth the money that it will cost to attack Graedis?"  
"That's right," Omarus said. "I don't want to lose any mechs, or buy any more armor than I have to-especially not on this mission. Allied is barely paying the cost for us to come out here."  
  
"Is the only thing you care about money?" Kain quickly asked Omarus. "Is that all you think about-how much money it will cost you to put down Graedis? You didn't even think about the people you would kill-the people in Graedis who would die in an attack. You're just thinking that it would be bad for your wallet. That's what you're thinking, isn't it?"  
In his mech, twenty meters farther east than Kain, Omarus sat with his mouth open for a couple seconds. He didn't start drooling, but he was bewildered by what Kain had just said. "What's that supposed to mean? Come on! I'm a mercenary here! This is what I do for a living-what we do. I kill people, and I blow up buildings and dropships and mechs, and they pay me for it. It's the code mercenaries live by. Money is what matters. Emotion, sentiment-that crap-we leave that for everyone else, and in the end, we're the ones alive, because we have the money, and the best stuff. We're supposed to be good. We're supposed to make money. What I don't understand is what you're thinking. I thought you were a mercenary, too, but I don't think you understand what that is."  
"No one ever said I'm a mercenary."  
Omarus abruptly realized Kain's words were completely correct. He had assumed that Kain was a mercenary, because he was one himself. He offered the response that was most fitting for the circumstance. "Who are you, then?"  
"You don't think Allied Armaments is the only group that's going to benefit from the PBC 2000, do you? This is something that's going to help change the whole face of the IS. We're funding a fair portion of this operation."  
"We? Who's we?"  
"It's-well, I work for one of the larger governments in the Inner Sphere. But plenty of organizations are behind this operation here. Mine sent me to get the blueprints out, once we got into Graedis. More than that, I can't say."  
"Fine, whatever," Omarus said disdainfully. "I don't care who you work for. But . . . I still don't get it. It's not like the people you work for are humanitarians or something." Omarus pushed his helmet closer to his face, so he could speak into the mouthpiece. "Everything in this galaxy works on money, Kain-C-bills. It's the oil that keeps the machine working, and the arms and legs moving. There's no getting around it." Omarus had spoken his thoughts with undeniable clarity. There was no way to contest his meaning. But, in the recesses of Kain's mind, where the words were processed and their meaning deciphered, Kain's intuition attached a different meaning than what he would have taken from their face value. The words contradicted Kain's hunch, but it still seemed that they were said not without a little resignation, as though Omarus hoped Kain might somehow prove him wrong.  
It seemed like minutes passed before Kain said anything more, and so Omarus thought Kain had chosen to agree with him.  
"Maybe you're right," Kain said belatedly. "Maybe everything does run on money. But is that the way it has to be? What if there was another way?" Omarus pored over Kain's words in the near silence of his mech, wondering what to say. During his career, Omarus had always stayed on top by never letting down his shield-by never letting anyone on to his doubts. But what if there was a way? Was it imaginable that he could continue doing the job he liked to do, while keeping his conscience satisfied? Omarus's hope and curiosity got the better of him, and he finally asked. "What do you suggest?"  
Kain, cramped into the cabin of the small Guardram, leaned back in his chair, and wondered how to best answer Omarus's question. "When I was ten, the city where I lived was attacked by mechs. Our militia was too weak to fight them off, but my father went out there anyway, hoping to save his family-hoping to resist them. Staying in our home, in an apartment building, I listened to the radio as the announcer described everything that happened. The tank my father was in was hit, as were over a hundred more that day. But then, just as their mechs stormed our barricades and blasted away at the buildings on the northwest of the city, something happened that I can never forget. Mechs arrived in our city from somewhere far away. They drove back the attackers, and then they helped rebuild our city. They were entirely selfless in helping us. They had never even heard of our city before that day. My father lost half his leg in that battle, but his life he owed to them. They had no reason to help us. They weren't rewarded with money for it; they weren't trying to capture the city; they weren't being threatened by the aggressors; and they weren't obligated to help us. Yet they did. I know that many, even most, people in the galaxy wouldn't care about something like that. But I do. And that is why I'm doing this: to prevent more from dying than have to."  
Omarus remained silent for a few seconds more. "I'm sure that there was money involved somewhere, though. There always is . . . in my experience. It-"  
Omarus's riposte was interrupted at that moment when his mech was rocked by a blow from behind-a great, tremendous blow of energy that sent the mech to the ground. In that sudden instant, priorities changed for Omarus. It no longer mattered whether what Kain said was true or not. From the rear, someone else had shown up-filled with sentiment for Graedis, and ready to fight and die to protect it and its secrets, and destroy its enemies. Omarus and Kain were the enemies of Graedis, and Jurick Donnell was going to take his shot at destroying them. 


	4. And the Mech Flew

4  
"Limey, how's our mech doing?"  
"The mech? Well, about as good as can be expected. I'm just putting in the last PBC right now."  
"But you didn't get the windshield repaired?"  
"Not yet, sir. That's bound to take a couple hours."  
Jurick walked a circle around the mech, looking it over. "What about the comm. array?"  
"That'll probably take even longer sir."  
"Well, get it in quick. I'm going to need to borrow it."  
"The Eagle, sir? It's in no fighting condition!"  
  
"No?"  
"Of course not! The armor's damaged, the comm. array is out, and if anyone gets a shot off at the windshield, it'll be the end of you!"  
"Then you have seven minutes to get a piece of armor over that hole. I'll use one of the mobile long-range radios I can use that to stay in touch."  
"But sir, why do you need to use the Eagle? A Guardram can take a lot more damage, with its shield."  
  
"But the Eagle can make 100 kph, but a Guardram can only do about 82. Two of them have just been stolen from Mech Bay 2, and I intend on catching up with them. As long as I don't get hit in the face, I should be OK, right?"  
"Well, I suppose. The armor's not too badly hit."  
  
"Then get on it. And put a piece of armor over that hole."  
"It won't keep any shots out."  
"Hopefully it will take care of the sand and heat at least."  
  
After fifteen minutes, Jurick Donnell was out of Mech Bay 3, and catching up with Kain and Omarus. Limey had replaced the last of the six medium lasers with a PBC 250, which were designed to easily come in and out of the mech, and he'd managed to get a piece of armor over the hole where the mech's cockpit was exposed, while Jurick found a long-range radio and brought it aboard the mech.  
The city's radar had come up shortly before Omarus and Kain left its range, so Jurick was able to follow the course they had taken. He quickly found their trail, and eventually Omarus appeared in front of him, and he locked on and began firing.  
"This is Captain Jurick Donnell of the Arthenis III Heavy Infantry in Graedis. You have stolen two Arthenian mechs and will immediately relinquish them into Arthenian custody and surrender yourselves, or be destroyed."  
"Uh, hello, Captain Jurick Donnell," Omarus answered, standing the mech back up. "How did you manage to catch up with us?" Jurick made no answer, and Omarus kept going. "As to what you said, I couldn't care less about the Arthenian government's former property. These mechs are now under the possession of the notable mechwarrior Omarus Aldan and his sidekick Kain Ikiru. I have no intention of surrendering my mech, now or anytime. I suggest you return home and tell your Colonel so."  
Jurick's reply came swiftly: a full volley from his PBC's, directly at Omarus. His mech stumbled forward, but unlike the previous one, the blast wasn't enough to knock him down.  
"I'm afraid you don't have much choice, Omarus Aldan," Jurick continued, opening fire again. "The two of you together are no match for me-even with your shields. You may want to reconsider. After all, I'd prefer to take back whole mechs to Graedis."  
"You won't have the pleasure."  
  
Back in front, Omarus signaled Kain again. "Turn 45 degrees to the right, Kain." "Where are we going?" "Sniper Stone. When we-" another PBC beam hit Omarus's mech, and he floundered a bit before recovering. "When we get there, you break right, and I'll break left. Jurick must have found our tracks and followed them, but the ground near Sniper Stone is rocky. We'll do our best to lose him. If not, then I want you to target Captain Jurick's right leg-repeat, his right leg." The mechs raced toward Sniper Stone. Omarus hoped that if they could get there before Jurick took out his shield, they might be able to lose him in the rocks.  
"Use your jump jets, Kain," Omarus said as his mech went airborne. "You'll go faster. We should stay in the air as long as possible." Sniper Stone wasn't too far away, and in a few minutes Omarus and Kain, dogged by Jurick, reached it. Omarus continued almost straight while Kain headed to the right, away from Omarus and Jurick.  
Thick dust covered most everything on Arthenis. However, there were some places that were rougher, so that the sand didn't pile up. The area around Sniper Stone was one. Mech-sized boulders were all around, and between them small trenches, rough rocks, craggy surfaces and eroded stones made for a battlefield that, to Omarus, was perfect for his purpose.  
It was day again; it had been day for hours now; had it not been, Jurick would probably have not found the trail the Guardrams left. In the morning light, he kept his eyes and guns trained on Omarus, and continued hitting him.  
The only problem was that Omarus kept on disappearing behind the boulders for a couple seconds at a time, changing course to put them between him and Jurick. It was an annoyance to Jurick, but little more.  
"You're only delaying the inevitable, Omarus. Your shield won't last forever. Why don't you just shut down your mech now and surrender? I promise nothing will happen to you. At least, not until after Roberts gets a hold of you."  
A second went by, and Jurick signaled again. "What happened to that friend of yours-Kain, you said? Did he just leave you out here?" But Omarus said nothing, and the Guardram disappeared behind another rock. The Eagle held its course and passed the boulder, revealing to Jurick's eyes nothing. Omarus had vanished. "Where'd he go," Jurick said to himself, looking all around him. Half a dozen boulders were immediately visible; he could have ducked behind one perhaps. Jurick looked down to the radar, hoping it would tell him Omarus's position; but there was nothing. Omarus had disappeared from vision and radar, it appeared. Jurick zoomed in the radar; then, to his right, a faint signal appeared.  
"What you doin', Omarus? Goin' passive radar? You're still just delaying." Jurick started moving forward again and looped back around the boulder, as the signal disappeared. Jurick slowed down, but kept moving in the same direction, and zoomed in his display, searching for any sign of a mech arm or leg sticking out from behind a boulder.  
Suddenly, two blasts came from the other direction-from behind Jurick. Someone had fired PBC's at his leg, rocking the mech slightly. He looked at the radar again while turning the mech, to where he thought the shot may have been fired from, but there was nothing-no mech, no signal. The Guardram out there must have ducked behind another boulder, and with only passive radar, there was no way Jurick could see him. But how had Omarus had gotten there so quickly after running the other direction? The answer came only a second later, when a shot came from behind Jurick again, hitting his leg once more, and then another shot, and a third: Kain had not left, as Jurick thought. Omarus and Kain were working together against Jurick.  
It took Jurick a second to make up his mind which mech to go after. It seemed most likely that the mech behind him-the one he had seen when he first got out from behind the rock-was Kain's, while the one that had fired first was Omarus, since Kain had gone to the right earlier, putting him closer to where the other mech was. Then who was the best target? It might be easier to find Kain, since he had only just fired and would still be seeking cover, while Omarus had probably long since disappeared into the rank and file of the rocks ahead of him. On the other hand, Omarus's shield was about half gone, while Kain's was still full. Jurick was already facing that direction, so he hit the throttle and went to search for Omarus.  
He moved forward, slowly twisting his torso from side to side, looking for Omarus. His hunch was that he would be on the right, but there was no way of saying for sure, so he kept twisting, hoping to find any sign. He looked downward for tracks, but the rocky, sandless ground was no help. Forward Jurick went, passing stones on either side. Then, something behind him on his radar caught his eye; the mech fired at Jurick and disappeared quickly behind a boulder. Jurick whirled around to catch the mech on its right flank with his PBC's, before it moved behind the rock, which took most of the hit. "Come on, Omarus," Jurick said over the radio again. "You know there's no way you can win. Just surrender." From behind him, the other Guardram lashed out at Jurick again, hitting him on the leg. Jurick started away from that mech, toward the other, but another shot hit, this time from his left, where no mech should have been. Jurick wasted no time and headed toward where the last shot had come from. Again, another shot came from behind, and then a Guardram poked its head out from behind a boulder and fired at Jurick, and was swiftly counterattacked. Back out of his sight it went, and Jurick sped forward to get on its tail. Jurick made it around the boulder, harassed by Kain in the other mech, and found that, like before, Omarus had gotten away. To the right there was nothing-no stones at all. To the left were a couple rocks, but they were too small to hide behind, as were the stones directly in front of Jurick, each about half the height of a Guardram. Jurick knew Omarus hadn't gotten away on the left side, because he was watching there the whole time; and there was nowhere he could have gotten off to so quickly on the right side, or forward. But Jurick's surveil of the situation was again interrupted by several shots from Kain on the leg, bringing tremulous creaking and rumblings to the mech. Jurick retreated fully behind the rock to keep Kain from hitting him and came out back around the other side. In a second Kain was in front of him and he closed in and fired, with Kain shooting back. Then PBC's started hitting Jurick from the other direction. He swung around, and there was the other Guardram, firing and charging Jurick at full speed. Behind Omarus Jurick saw that there were now only two rocks where earlier he had noticed three, and it then dawned that Omarus must have crouched the mech. But it was past now, and Jurick hit the throttle and prepared to crash headlong into the Guardram. Omarus stopped 100 meters short, but Jurick kept moving and the Eagle slammed into the Guardram, unabashed by the blow. Jurick backed off, and Omarus brought the mech back up, and he and Kain began firing at the right leg, while Jurick held his guns on Omarus, sapping away at his shield.  
"This is funny," Jurick said over the radio. "I didn't think you were quite so bold to come out in the open and fight me, after your evasion game. I figured you'd just run away. After all, there's no way you can beat me. You know that there's a reason they call those PBC's on your mech 100's, and 250's on mine: because mine are 2.5 times stronger than yours. I have seven tons of unildanium armor on my right leg alone. Your mech has one ton of armor all together. You'll be dead long before you can cut through, because once your shield is gone, one hit will finish you off."  
Omarus was more interested in taking Jurick down than listening to his intimidating words. "Kain," he signaled, "do you know how resonation works?" "Resonation? Why are you asking me about resonation at a time like this!?"  
"Kain, put your weapons on bolt mode and start Alpha Striking him. I'll do an Alpha Strike, and then you, back and forth. Hopefully we'll be able to jerk his mech around enough to keep him from hitting me."  
So back and forth they went, their weapons hitting Jurick on full power. Omarus's plan was just starting to work a little when Jurick actually took a look at the remaining armor on his right leg, and realized that it was a deal less than he had expected. The knee, where Omarus and Kain had been firing, had a lot of armor itself, but Jurick knew that with both of them firing at the exact same spot, they might actually begin to break through the armor. Between that and their jolting him back and forth with their hits, Jurick began to get fed up.  
"You would have been better off to run away when you had the chance, Omarus, because two can play this game!" he bellowed over the radio as he turned his PBC's from beam to bolt and initiated an Alpha against Omarus. The little mech was knocked to the ground, but Omarus quickly got it back up and-was hit by Jurick again and knocked back to the ground.  
Now that Jurick had found something that seemed to work quite well against Omarus, he wasn't nearly so worried about him or Kain. Omarus would stay on the ground until Jurick decided to let him up. Kain continued firing, but it would take him quite some time to cut through the rest of the armor, and Omarus's shield had already fallen to 10%.  
"Kain! Get of here, now! I'll keep him busy as long as I can, but you need to get those blueprints back!" Back in his mech, Kain let his finger off the trigger and looked around the scenery-the cracked ground, scorched by untold years of insolation and radiation from the large star of the Arthenis system. A few boulders here and there were broken and falling apart-some struck by PBC's and other weaponry from the three mechs, others just eroded by the continuous, sandy winds of Arthenis III. This was the desolate place where he would last see Omarus. Kain turned his mech toward the southwest, to hook up with the rendezvous party, but then, inexpicably, he turned back. "I don't think so, Omarus," Kain said solidly. "What are you talking about? Get out of here! We can't take him on." "I'm afraid I have to disagree with you, Omarus. Personally, I think there is a reason they call these mechs rams. We're about to find out for sure." "No, Kain!" Omarus called back. "He's three times your size! It'll be like running into a brick wall. He already knocked me down. Get out of here while you can!" But Omarus was too late. Kain put his finger back to the trigger and fired again on the Eagle's leg, and then he rushed the mech forward. Then, at the last moment, Kain hit his jump jets, and the mech flew into the air, its legs colliding deftly on the back of the Eagle's head. To Omarus's surprise, Kain's little tactic worked. The Eagle staggered and toppled over facedown onto the hot, rocky ground of Arthenis, while Kain's mech landed on its back a few meters in front of the Eagle. "Get out of here! I'll keep Jurick busy!" Omarus didn't need to be told twice. His mech came back up and he zoomed away.  
  
When Jurick came back up Omarus had already disappeared, using the rocks as cover. Kain remained, pelting him with his guns, distracting him. In his anger Jurick turned his guns on Kain, but Kain raced away before he could fire. Still, the Eagle was as fast as ever, and he caught up to Kain and stayed on his tail. Jurick put his PBC's back to beam and began firing at Kain. "Too bad for you," he called to him after a minute. "You should have gone with Omarus when you had the chance." "I had no intention of getting away," Kain responded, the first time Jurick heard his voice. "Omarus is away, and that's what matters." "Why is that so important?" Jurick responded. "Why do you think this mission is so important? The Inner Sphere is in need of what the Arthenians possess." "And what might that be?" "Information." "Just information? I never would have imagined information could be so important." "You might think differently when you find the information we discovered about your wife and child." Few things were further from Jurick Donnel's mind than his wife, Raquel, and their son, Derrick. It was something he had buried years in his past, and had not revisited since. Jurick was shell shocked at what Kain said, but in a second he fired with his guns back on bolt, knocking the Guardram over.  
"I oughtta blast you and that mech to scrap for even mentioning my family, Roberts and his trial be damned!"  
  
"Yes, Jurick. Roberts should be damned, for what he did to them." A swift blow came from the Eagle again, and the Guardram crashed to the ground, and got up again. But Jurick was no longer in a playful mood; the mech only made a few more meters before he hit it again. Then, over and over Jurick's PBC's lashed at the Guardram until the heat was too high, and he ceased firing to let the weapons cool down. Kain took the opportunity to get away, this time with the aid of his jump jets. Once the Eagle had cooled off, Jurick put the weapons back to beam, though at a higher power setting than before. In a few minutes the shield on the Guardram failed. Then the right leg was damaged, and the mech took its last strides away from Jurick before he fired on it again. Then down a short sand dune it toppled, and at the bottom lay. From the top of that dune, Jurick stared down at the mech, which slowly lifted itself back onto its feet.  
"It's over now. Your friend managed to get away, but that doesn't help you any, does it? Even if he decided to turn around and help his friend, there's nothing he could do-not in that Guardram with a sapped shield. It's time to head back to Graedis."  
"And what if I refuse?" "Then say goodbye, and welcome to the last moments of your life."  
"Might I persuade you to hold your fire a moment more?"  
Jurick looked up from the fallen Guardram below. This was not Kain's voice. Sure enough, another mech had snuck up behind him, nearing on the radar.  
"You came back for your friend after all!" Jurick said, looking back down at the Guardram to keep a watch on it. "I thought you were going to get out of here with the precious information you came for-but you're back. Have you come to join Kain and me on our way back to Greadis?"  
"I'm afraid you won't have the opportunity to take us there. You see, I got tired of the Guardram. Say hello to Hell Strider. Even up against what Arthenis has to offer, you might find him to be quite a challenge." "Oh, really?" Jurick said, as he looked at the information his scans of the Hell Strider had revealed. "I doubt that. Your mech might be bigger, but you ought to know that Arthenian mechs are significantly more powerful than IS." Omarus laughed at Jurick over the radio. "I know that Arthenian mechs are better than the Inner Sphere's. Why else do you think I would have pulled those six PBC's off that Eagle, not so long ago? You didn't think I would just throw them away, did you?"  
The truth of it all came to Jurick like a slap in the face. "And of course, the Strider has a lot more power output than your Eagle. I'll bet my PBC's are twice as powerful as yours."  
  
Jurick fretted that what Omarus said might be true. If he had actually put the PBC's on the Hell Strider, he might make a formidable opponent. On the other hand, it might just be a bluff to help Kain get away. But Jurick didn't dare take his guns off the Guardram, because given the chance, he was bound to get as far away as possible.  
"What do you want then, Omarus? You know you can't kill me, even if you are in a big mech, like you say-at least, not unless you want to challenge me for his life. Is that why you're here-to challenge me for his life?"  
"Not really." Omarus already had his crosshairs laid over the Eagle's right leg; without any more delay, he fired. Three times as much firepower as both Guardrams together could muster struck the back of the Eagle's knee. It sparked and exploded, and the mech tumbled to the ground.  
When the dust had cleared, Jurick took a look at the damage report and found that his mech could no longer walk. He got back on the radio and contacted Omarus. "What are you going to do now, then? Leave me here to die? You are a dishonor to all mech pilots."  
  
"Leave you to die? Of course not," Omarus said, seemingly appalled at the thought. "When your friends arrive, they can help you out. I don't plan on shooting you. However, there is something I want you to hear. Go ahead, Kain."  
"What? Uh, well . . ." Omarus had caught Kain off guard, but in a second he knew what he was supposed to say. "Well, I've been reading about you in Colonel Robert's Top Secret files. There's one file you may find especially interesting. It's about your wife, and your son."  
"That again? Roberts had nothing to do with their deaths. It was the IS who killed Raquel and Derrick." "Perhaps, but Colonel Roberts planned it ahead of time." "What kind of a lie is that? You're trying to turn me against my commander! I have true dignity, unlike either of you, apparently. Do you expect me-" "We don't have time to argue. I'm sending you a transmission that includes the file about your family. Read it if you wish. You can even verify it with the computer in Graedis when you return."  
"Yes," Omarus said quickly, starting off toward the west, "and with that, I'm afraid we're out of time. I actually would have liked to challenge you to single combat, but I'm afraid we're in too much of a hurry for circumstances to permit. But . . . perhaps one day, we will have a chance to fight." Ten minutes later, Captain Pembroke and his lance had found the Eagle; five minutes after that, Jurick watched from his cockpit as the Hell Strider dropship made its departure from Arthenis III. In another minute, three squadrons of Aerotech fighters made their way across the sky to pursue the dropship, but by then it was long gone.  
  
Meanwhile, the Hell Striders dropped Herman off with the blueprints at Allied Armaments. After that there were negotiations and fulfillments of contract and money-passing and repairs and transfers. But after it was all done, shortly before say bon voyage to Kain, he still had a couple questions.  
"Omarus, there are a couple things I've been trying to figure out since we left Arthenis. Before, you told me that the only thing you care about is money. But then you came back to rescue me, and, which surprised me even more, you let Jurick live. Why?"  
"Well, the reason I rescued you is easy. Did you really think I was going to let that Guardram get left behind? Not a chance."  
"I should have guessed that."  
"Now, as for Jurick . . . . I first started as a mechwarrior years ago. It only took a few missions for my commanders to realize that I was great at it. They said I could make tons of money at it-maybe even rise to the top. I enjoyed piloting the mech, and it was good pay, especially once I became famous. But all along I'd wondered why the money was so important, and why it was worth ending a person's life. I suppose I actually have a soft heart, but no one would have guessed. That little bit of remorse for the countless soldiers I'd slain eventually built up until I had to make a decision: either I had to sacrifice my morals, or I had to sacrifice what I enjoyed doing-my career. I retired, and told everyone it was because of my graying hair, but that was only part of it. "After I retired, I knew something was missing from my life. I wasn't doing what I enjoyed. I was sitting behind a desk, managing the finances. I had stopped killing mechwarriors my. Instead, I was sending others to kill." "Then all this came along, with Ronald Herman and Allied Armaments. I made the decision to get back on the field-to keep my mind on the money instead of the people I would kill. Then you told me why you fight. You told me you have a cause-a reason to kill. And that's when I wondered if I could do that too-if I could still do what I enjoy doing, but not sacrifice my morals. That's why I let Jurick live. I wanted to see if I could care about something other than money. I wanted to see if I still was Human." After that, both were silent for a few seconds. Finally, Kain spoke again. "Omarus, you're a much deeper person than I first took you for. I can see why you didn't tell everyone the real reason you were retiring, though. I already know the answer to your question: you are Human. They wouldn't have understood that."  
  
And so, the Battle of Arthenis III had ended. Ronald Herman merrily took the blueprints back to Allied Armament's headquarters, and within two years the company's sales had soared by 330%. The LR Mech-to-Mech Energy Cannons were grabbed up by pilots all over the Inner Sphere, quickly replacing the PPC and ER Medium Laser, while quietly stifling Turbine Pascal's belated release of the PBC 2000, which, although it was cooler, priced competitively, and had a mass 50% less than the MMEC, received significantly less media attention than the earlier release. Within five years, with the new technology sufficiently saturated throughout the market, Allied, Pascal, and the other arms dealers reached a stabler state of equilibrium, and there was even talk that Allied might reclaim its control of the market. Omarus took the Guardrams, the PBC 250's on the Hell Strider, and 2,000,000 C-bills for a job well done (plus a significant cut of Allied Armament's MMEC sales). About a month after the mission was complete, he held a press conference announcing that not only was he returning to the field but that the Hell Striders were going to take a radical new direction. Of course, in business, changes don't occur overnight; the Hell Striders were afar from becoming the defenders of innocence, justice, peace, and truth in the Inner Sphere, but Omarus made it clear that the unit would become more vigilant in choosing contracts, and avoiding the seedier ones. When Jurick made it back to Graedis, he found that what Kain had told him was the truth. A week later, he went to the Colonel's office with all the evidence he had found against him-and a gun. He asked him how he could have been so heartless as to allow his family to die, just so he could keep Jurick fighting for him against the IS. Then, as he had planned to do years ago, before Raquel and Derrick were killed, he told Roberts that his days of working for him were over. Then Jurick left Colonel Robert's office. Roberts was thankful to still be alive after the visit from the gun-brandishing mechwarrior, but he soon found himself imprisoned, and his own files the cause. Kain took a sense of accomplishment for having once again helped one of the larger Inner Sphere governments maintain its status. Besides that, he gained a greater understanding of the Human psyche, and discovered that even a mercenary could change. He was accoladed by his superiors for a job well done and sent out on his next mission. 


End file.
